


kiss with a fist

by decato



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Headcanon, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decato/pseuds/decato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been hate the moment Shizuo had first seen Izaya, like poison that seeped into the pores of his skin. Izaya just laughs off the moments and leaves the lasting impression of the cold press of metal against his skin, left with a trail of scars, blood and destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss with a fist

**Author's Note:**

> For my dearest Bea, the original Izaya to my Shizuo. She's done so much for me during my more active writing time and sorry for not being able to talk to you more recently! I hope you enjoy this, even when I will never be fully satisfied with it but this is as far as I can get my headcannon right as it is in my head. I barely feel like this is enough to repay you for everything you've ever done for me and you'll always be a dear friend to me! 
> 
> Also, loads of thanks to both Roux (one of my best shizaya spazzing buddies) and KY, who periodically went to check my gdocs and made sure I didn't abandon this halfway since you were the one at fault to giving me this anime and making me join the fandom. I owe you all the thanks in the world for encouraging me and telling me when the sex scenes where appropriate haha. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Now all we need is a season 2 for Durarara!! or another volume of the light novel~~

“I don’t like you.”

Shizuo doesn’t like anything about Izaya. He doesn’t like the way his lips tug up into a smirk that stings like the knife in between his fingertips, doesn’t like the casual way he walks, doesn’t like the way his eyes look at everything and everyone like potential aspects of some sort of fucked up game in his fucked up little head because as much as Shizuo himself felt like he came from the wrong end of the spectrum, Izaya was on a whole new level.

He was evil personificated, the Devil himself, right from the moment he had taken his first step into the school and saw the meticulous and mischievous glint in the other’s eyes.

“I don’t like you,” Shizuo says loud and clearly, feeling his fists clench up and the anger boil in his veins. He hated violence but for Izaya, he felt the need to make an exception, felt even angrier for the fact that he was ruining his self-control, weak in comparison.

“Oh? Well that’s too bad,” Izaya waves his hands nonchalantly in the air, an exaggerated gesture. “And here I thought we could have lots of fun together, Shizuo-kun.”

The movements of his body are almost instinctual but Shizuo doesn’t feel any remorse when he lands the first punch, the sickening crunch of wood beneath his knuckles and Izaya a few metres away.

He can barely feel the throbbing beneath his skin anymore, moving his stance and there is the slight glint in Izaya’s eyes as he smiles back at him for just a second.

The peek of silver beneath his sleeve is unnoticed until the last moment and Shizuo has barely enough time to move away before the red, hot pain slices at his chest, not fatal enough to leave anything lasting but deep enough for him to want to feel how Izaya’s neck would feel beneath his fingertips, arteries pumping in life into his toxic form.

The grin spreads across Izaya’s face the same way the blood on his chest blooms, almost as if enticed, knowing exactly how the expression crawls and hooks onto Shizuo like a pair of deadly fangs.

It’s an ugly chase between cat and dog but with both on par, Izaya sinking his claws in deeper with every bite and Shizuo inches away from leaving the other into a mangled mess of bloodied fur.

He’s almost so close too, the adrenaline keeping him on his toes as Izaya rounds up a corner, caught beneath the corner of his eyes, the pavement becoming gravel before he hears the screeching of tyres and a huge force to his side, the darkness sweeping him under like a blanket of cold numbness.

Izaya, of course, pays off the driver of the truck, telling him not to worry and Shizuo finds himself leaning against the walls of some filthy alley, bones aching to break something the same way they had broken themselves a million times.

_Orihara Izaya._

He’s banging down the front door of Shinra’s before he even realises it, knowing that asshole and his stupid smug expression is behind it.

(Or maybe it had just been Shinra’s text message that said, ‘You really did a number on him, didn’t you?’ after he had managed to wrangle back his phone from a bunch of dudes who thought it was fine to take it from him while he was still unconscious.)

He is given the familiar glimpse of Celty’s helmet when the door opens and as much as he wants to greet her first because he had always been told common courtesy was to be held no matter where he was, he removes Shinra’s front door from its hinges despite Celty’s pleading gesture with her hands.

Shinra is actually tending over _him_ , bruised up in almost a deliberate way that Shizuo knows the other must have either done it himself or gotten into some trouble along the way because he doesn’t remember being able to even brush knuckles against his skin, even if it makes him pissed to admit it.

“You certainly look alright,” Izaya says with his stupid, stupid smirk as a ball of cotton and antiseptic is dabbed at his arm, yellow smearing against the red.

It makes his blood boil a little more and Shinra is forced to put Celty in between them that night just so he won’t have to be cleaning off blood from the walls or paying for home reconstruction.

For once, Celty pats the young ward on his back, sympathetic.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s exactly 24 hours after when there are a group of men on the usual way Shizuo takes when he walks to school, swinging around baseball bats and other precariously dangerous objects around in an almost carefree manner, albeit more careless than with actual professionalism.

He shrugs, almost to himself and walks past them, just a few feet away from the front gate when he sees him.

Him, with his stupid smirk, leaning nonchalantly against one of the building’s pillars. He doesn’t get it, he really fucking doesn’t, wishing he could wipe that face against the gravel to scratch away the itch inside of him because of that stupid, permanent expression that other seemed to have on.

Permanent, he realises, with the contact of a solid wooden bat against his skull and the sound of breaking bones beneath his knuckles.

Izaya almost grins to the teeth as he watches and Shizuo hits a little harder than necessary just to hear the sickening sound of bones breaking like brittle, fragile things, reminding him of what he can never have.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“I hate that asshole,” Shizuo growls as he walks. “Hate him, hate him, hate him,” he chants almost like a mantra, fingers painfully wrapped up tight around the handle of his bag.

He heads straight home, remembering how Kasuka had said he would be back that night since he had no extra school activities, passing by Simon who is enthusiastically passing flyers promoting _Russian Sushi_ that makes Shizuo envy him a little, despite its weird choices in ingredients and the unique, acquired taste it had.

It’s that expression, somewhat like Izaya, a constant smile on his face no matter his situation. He hasn’t seen Simon flatter throughout the years, Russian accent still tinged in his Japanese, eager on the job like he had only started just yesterday, unfazed by the prospect of change in human life.

Change, the only one thing constant in human nature besides Death.

There’s already a cup of instant noodles on his side of the table when he gets back, steam rising from the sides with Kasuka right opposite silently eating his own, still in his uniform. He sees the post-it note on the fridge, their mother working overtime and he just sighs as he swing his bag strap across his chair and sits down.

“You got into another fight,” the monotonous voice says passively, chopsticks still digging around for the last few stray bits of noodles.

He knows Kasuka can see the bruises on his knuckles and the tinge of red on his collar no amount of water could have rinsed off on its own. “There were some idiots along the way to school.”

They sit in the silence, a heavy feeling in his heart that feels a lot like disappointment even when nothing is shown in his brother’s eyes or expression.

“The talent scout last weekend that wanted you,” Kasuka says, staring down at his cup. “He asked me if I wanted to star in their latest movie and I told him I’d consider it.”

Shizuo’s face moves into an automatic smile, words softer than usual. “That sounds great. I’m sure you’ll do great if you do.” He doesn’t ask if he’s told their parents yet, if he’ll say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or what kind of movie it is about. He doesn’t ask because these are things that he doesn’t need to know except for when Kasuka wants to tell him himself and he’s content with the knowledge he has now, far easier to understand than Shinra’s calculated words or Izaya’s back and forth nature.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, Shinra’s name flashing across the screen as he answers it.

“Hello?” It’s a bit too silent on the other side of the phone, knowing just how well Shinra would have already beat him towards his greeting with his enthusiastic tone.

“Hello, Shizu-chan. It’s nice to hear your voice after what happened today.”

He feels a nerve inside him twitch, fingers curling tighter around the plastic casing of the phone, straining against his grip. “Izaya-kun.”

“I hope you liked the little gift I left you earlier. It seemed like a thing that you might have liked.”

“I would have preferred to break your bones instead.”

Izaya makes a tutting sound at the end of the call. “And I had your best interests in too. It makes me almost sad not one of them was able to mark you up the same way I did.”

He hears Shinra shouting at Izaya in the background for his phone back, looking straight to see Kasuka staring back at him, expression enigmatic.

“What do you want?”

“To win,” the other says and hangs up.

Shizuo pushes his chair back and stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’m tired. I’m turning in early,” he says, appetite lost with those two words ringing in his head.

_To win._

He can’t help but think how increasingly irritating the dark-haired man is starting to get, the closest thing to absolute disgust he can feel.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“Kasuka...”

“What?”

”Aren’t you,” Shizuo asked, voice tipped with fear and nervousness. “Afraid of me?”

Kasuka just swung his legs back and forth, staring forward. “Not really.” His tone was idle in a way Shizuo had always remembered it being.

The rest of the night is silent but the warmth that Shizuo felt that night made it easier to sleep in all his years than he’d ever felt.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The first time it happens, it’s a flurry of emotions and the taste of blood along the inside of his mouth.

“Back alleys? You never know what might happen in places like this,” Izaya says, grinning lazily, back leaning against the grimy walls.

He feels his nerves twitch and his stance shift. “Yeah. So you should stay still and let me hit you.”

“Oh, Shizu-chan. It’s never that easy,” Izaya says, pushing himself off and Shizuo can already see the glint of silver beneath the trim of his sleeve, taunting. “I’ll never be able to convince you on anything when you’re mad, huh?”

He’s already aiming for the other’s neck, Izaya stepping back before he even has time to blink.

The slight nick of pain on the outer rim of his ear doesn’t really seep into Shizuo’s mind until he feels the trickle of liquid down his face.

“Stop calling me that stupid name, you flea,” Shizuo mutters under his breath.

“Huh? You mean ‘Shizu-chan’?” Izaya feigns cluelessness, voice as light as ever. “But it suits you. You’re this cute little thing begging for attention deep down inside. In fact, I think that’s all you’ve ever really been craving.”

Shizuo doesn’t regret it when he feels the crumple of metal beneath his fingers, aiming the vending machine right at Izaya’s face. He dodges it in the nick of time and Shizuo barely feels the brush of his knuckles against pale, warm skin before there’s another nick, this time on his cheek.

Izaya’s tongue is rough and wet against his cheek, flinching back at the contact in disgust.

“Don’t fuck with me!” Shizuo shouts out angrily. Izaya swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, almost as if savouring the taste.

“You taste exactly like any other human out there. I love humans, but for you, I might make an exception.”

For once, Shizuo actually manages to back Izaya up against the wall, although it might have been the other’s intention considering the pleasant smile on his face. “I don’t need you to give me these stupid privileges. All I want is for you to die.” The steady beat of his heart warms the knife right below his chin, pressure barely there but a threat all the same.

“That’s something I’m afraid I can’t give you, Shizu-chan.”

The inside of Izaya’s mouth tastes like iron and blood, like _him_. It isn’t the first time Shizuo has kissed anyone, remembering his middle school years when he had started looking at girls in a more physical manner, hair delicately tucked behind ears and tiny giggles of shyness.

They had felt soft and warm, delicate to the touch. Izaya is rough and smooth, tongue swiping against his own in an experienced manner, like he had done it enough times to know just what was right.

Shizuo bites hard enough against Izaya’s lower lip, enough for it to bleed and Izaya chuckles, running the taste inside Shizuo’s mouth. They stay like that for a few minutes, tongues rough and lips swollen before pulling away.

“Seems like someone isn’t a little virgin,” Izaya says, playfully patting the other’s cheek.

“Shut the fuck up,” Shizuo growls and Izaya just grins as he unbuckles Shizuo’s belt, hands warm against his hips. They’re in a back alley in one of the busiest parts of the city but Izaya takes his time when he pushes Shizuo’s boxers down, the blond gritting his teeth when he feels calloused fingers holding him, already half hard.

Izaya sinks down to his knees and Shizuo automatically finds his hands buried in the other’s hair when a tongue swipes against the underside of his dick. “You’re so cute, Shizu-chan. You feel so eager.”

He tightens his fingers, pulling Izaya closer. “Fuck you and that stupid name,” Shizuo grits out, blood throbbing beneath his skin.

“I don’t mind being fucked but later,” Izaya says teasingly before leaning forward and taking the other’s cock in his mouth. Shizuo shudders when he feels teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. He almost swears he can hear Izaya chuckling around him and he pushes the other harder against his cock, lightly hitting the back of his throat.

His blade isn’t the only thing Izaya is skilled with and Shizuo feels himself tip over the edge, breathing ragged and muscles taunt as he holds Izaya still against him, the other obediently swallowing every last drop.

Izaya pulls away, tongue tracing lightly against his lower lip, a smug expression on his fast. “That was fast, Shizu-chan. Are you really that deprived?”

Shizuo’s answer is a hand around Izaya’s throat and the solid contact of cement against his back, enough to leave bruises that would last for week. They are a more silent pair when it comes to sex, speaking in actions instead that are evident in the way when Shizuo fucks him hard enough to bruise him inside out, finger-shaped bruises against his hip. Izaya leaves more permanent marks, digging the tip of his knife deep enough across the other’s chest, tongue trailing behind to lap at the red.

They look like a wreck when it’s all over, pain and pleasure gripping against them as Shizuo zips himself back up and Izaya dusts off his jacket. Shizuo doesn’t really remember what happens after that but the faint whisper of ‘goodbye’ and the tang of blood inside his mouth, his own and Izaya’s as he leans in one last time before disappearing, almost taunting. His chest feels wet and he realises he’s still bleeding from the cut Izaya had left behind, curled lips pressed tightly against the open wound.

Shizuo’s thankful that his vest manages to cover the blooming stain, even if he didn’t really care. He didn’t feel in the mood for questions.

Nothing really changes after the first time, fights the same and the blooming hatred like a poisonous snake wrapped around his heart.

Izaya’s fingers curl tighter around his knife and Shizuo punches harder to close in that extra few inches. It’s pure hatred, the kind that makes you lose control and fling away regrets for the moment, not the way Izaya’s hair curls around the edges of his collar and how delicate his fingers look despite the strength they hold.

 

 

 

 

\--

_Heiwajima Shizuo_

He had heard his classmates his classmates whispering that day about the meanings of name, the significance of characters that were suppose to be you. It wasn’t something he really needed to know but curiousity had gotten the better of him, as he remembered the kanji dictionary that laid on his mother’s study table.

 

_Heiwajima: peaceful island  
Shizuo: serene man_

 

“Hey, Kasuka. Is this right?” Shizuo asked as he stared at the meaning of his name with an intent expression on his face.

Kasuka looked at what his brother had written down, grabbing the dictionary from his older brother and flipped through the pages. “Yeah.”

“‘Serene man’ and ‘peaceful island’, huh? I guess mum and dad might have been wrong about that,” Shizuo mumbled under his breath, looking down at his broken leg, covered in a cast of plaster and bandages.

“...”

Shizuo ruffled his younger brother’s hair, a smile on his face. “I guess it doesn’t really hurt to get the extra luck. At least, until I figure out how this works.” Shizuo frowned at his own words as Kasuka remained silent. “Gah, I’m starting to sound like that idiot Shinra.”

“But one day, I’ll live up to this name of mine. I promise.”

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“Did something happen between you and Izaya-san?” Shinra asks, watching the blond man lounging on his couch, knuckles bruised from a previous fight. “Since recently, he’s started asking more question about you. Or could it be that the both you have finally decided to be friends?”

Shizuo runs a hand through his hair, almost wishing he hadn’t finished his last cigarette before the random dispute he had been thrown into, the idiot not knowing who he was. His fingers were itching with for the taste of nicotine on his tongue and he grabbed at Shinra’s throat, wishing the other would just shut up and stop asking questions.

“Shizuo-san, my windpipe-” Shinra manages to choke out from Shizuo’s grip. Fortunately for him, the both of them heard the click of the door opening and Shizuo let Shinra go as soon as Celty had walked in.

 _Am I interrupting something?_ Celty types out to the both of them.

“Ah, it’s nothing, Celty! We’re done already. Just a few cuts and bruises but nothing too serious since it’s Shizuo-san, after all,” Shinra says, clearing up his stuff that laid scattered on the table, stained with blood.

_I see. It’s good to see you’re okay then, Shizuo._

It’s a few silent seconds before Shizuo stands up, grabbing his vest. “Thanks for the help.”

Shinra grins. “Don’t mention it. Except, maybe you could give me a sample of your blood or allow me to do a check-up on your body as a gift of thanks?”

He just stares at Shinra and the other backs off. He walks off before the other can pester him with any other questions.

It’s a quiet walk back home and it makes him think of Shizuo’s question.

_”Did something happen between you and Izaya-san? Since recently, he’s started asking more question about you. Or could it be that the both you have finally decided to be friends?”_

Shizuo digs in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes, not really caring that it’s his third box of the week. He lights it and inhales deeply, the smoke rising from his lungs like the part of his life that gets killed every time he decides to take a smoke, not that he really cares but Kasuka had never really approved of this habit of his, the only one he couldn’t bring himself to drop.

He and Izaya weren’t friends. They weren’t anything, the perfect meaning of nothing. Just flesh that would cleanly slice itself off under the swing of a blade, a clean cut with barely the faintest of pressure.

He had heard when Izaya had moved his new headquarters to Shinjuku, closer to their hometown when Shinra had brought it up in casual conversation just a few days ago. The damned flea was probably back to cause trouble and Shizuo just knew he’d be thrown into it, considering their high school years when Izaya had conned people into giving him trouble.

Izaya being closer was like pain with a promise and Shizuo would be glad to deliver from the other side.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The second time it happens, it is one week before Shizuo loses his job as a bartender. He blames it on the hard liquor and the bad timing of it all, wooden countertops better than the rough feel of cement on any day.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Shizuo says when he hears the front door open, drying the stem of the wine glass, the dull thud of footsteps on the wooden floorboards. He had volunteered to clear the place up while everyone else had went home, an empty apartment waiting for him when the night was over.

“This is a pretty nice place, Shizu-chan.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that? And what are you doing here?” Shizuo growls, irritated. He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. There is scratch of metal against wood as Izaya drags out a chair and takes a seat. “I told you, we’re closed.”

“I’m here for a drink. Can’t you do that for a dear friend?”

“Fuck off. There’s nothing dear about you besides your corpse.” Shizuo ignores the throb in his knuckles, a white hot flash that almost has the glass in his hand cracking from the pressure. It isn’t the right place and the right time, Shizuo thinks to himself, especially after the months he had endured to keep the job.

Izaya laughs, just a tiny tinkle of noise. “My drink, Shizu-chan. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt you to serve me something after hours.”

It feels so out-of-character for Shizuo himself when he pour out a drink and slides it to Izaya’s side. For once, it makes him feel smaller and more restrained that Shizuo has to remind himself about Kasuka’s visit and his promise to the other.

“Vodka, huh? I always penned you for someone who was into hard liquor anyway.” He barely sips the glass, amber liquid sloshing gently around the edges as Izaya settled it back onto the countertop. “Why not have a drink with me, Shizu-chan?”

He later finds out it’s the second thing he does wrong that night when he pours himself a glass, alcohol burning down his throat and Izaya’s smile against the rim of his glass as he watched on.

Everything is wrong. The atmosphere, the silence and the strange calm beneath the tension. Shizuo’s fingers don’t feel like his own as he downs each glass down, intoxication severing the tension between the both of them despite the silence.

“So you’re the silent type of drunk? That was unexpected,” Izaya says, eye glinting like a hawk.

“Just shut up,” Shizuo says, his tongue slightly numb and his mind buzzing as he tips down another glass. Izaya’s voice gets smaller behind the haze of intoxication and Shizuo always wishes that it had been this way.

The mistakes keep piling up the same way Shizuo feels himself detach from the world until Izaya is suddenly pressed up way too close besides him, an arm around his waist that he doesn’t have enough will nor soberness to fight off the other’s weight.

“Relax, Shizu-chan. You’re so tense. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that stressing out too much only makes you grow older faster?” The flea has his mouth way too close to his ear than he would have ever liked but the response in his limbs are slow and just for a moment, Izaya manages to overpower him.

There is a warm mouth against the crevice of his neck and he dimly hears something along the lines of testing the durability of the countertops before the other has slicked fingers - “One must always be prepared for these kinds of things,” Izaya grins as he rips open the packet with his teeth - pushed inside him and fucks him open.

With all the broken bones and punctured skin in his life, Shizuo barely feels any pain as Izaya pushes into him, all warm areas and tight friction at all the right places. Somewhere at the back of his head, he wonders how he looks like, legs splayed wide over the countertop and red marks forming on his skin.

He doesn’t stifle the groan that comes out from his throat when Izaya shifts and hits against the bundle of nerves inside of him, a flash of colours behind closed eyelids.

“You look so pretty like this, Shizu-chan. Spread out openly, so nice and warm and all for me,” Izaya coos, fucks him harder with each word in a gesture that feels almost mocking.

It’s just sex, all sex and only sex. Nothing more and nothing less.

It’s none of that complicated shit, just a casual fuck from the heat of the moment. There is nothing passionate about the way sex worked for the both of them, just pure, physical dominating power.

The first time he comes, it begins again just as soon as it ends, a mess against his thighs and Izaya pulling the both of them on one of the stools. “Ride me,” Izaya mutters against his ear, biting at his earlobe. Shizuo sinks down teeth in the soft juncture of his neck and shoulder in retaliation as he pushes himself up and back onto the other’s dick because really, they were both hard and wanting so why should he have to deny the mutual need of the moment?

The rest of the night blur out to Shizuo, sinks under his feet like bad memories and a lingering headache that no amount of aspirin can cure, bleary-eyed against the light of the morning. There is a post-it note stuck on his forehead and he takes it off to read it.

_You can thank me another day, Shizu-chan. Also, I do suggest you go early to work or someone might walk into the mess we made the night before. Thanks for all the fun!_

Ironically, the pounding in his head does nothing to erase the bastard’s comments in his mind for the rest of the day, eyes glaring behind tinted sunglasses.

 

 

 

 

\-- 

 

 

 

When Shizuo is being held down by policemen for a crime he doesn’t even remember committing, the darn flea steps out from behind the glaring lights of police cars and sirens, a ring of keys looped around his pointer finger and that grin on his face.

They find out, weeks later in lock-up and beating up nearly half his temporary inmates, that he’s innocent but he’s already known he’s broken his promise to Kasuka.

All because of one irritable flea, one big mistake the world had made to breed.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The third time it happens, it’s with realisations that no one wants to admit.

It gets harder to sleep during the night and Shizuo finally decides to relent after three weeks have passed, eyelids barely closing shut before the first hit of sunlight in the morning, the faint throbbing in his temples.

“Looks like you’re going through a case of insomnia. While I’d usually say the best cure for this is sleep itself, it seems your body’s been fighting against it for quite awhile so it might be good to give you some of the heavy stuff and hopefully that will ease you back into a regular sleep pattern.”

There is the heavy stench of bleach, disinfectant and medicated products in the air, clashing along with the pastel yellow on the walls. Maybe he should have gone to Shinra, despite all the poking and prodding the other would have done. There is something nauseating about hospital and Shizuo swallows hard at the lump that forms in his throat, hoping the whole session would end soon.

They are dreams that don’t make sense when Shizuo closes his eyes, too much colour and vigorous movement that snap him up right at the moment he’s pinned down beneath the cushions.

A little pink slip is handed to him, his medical prescription and tiny blue pills are passed over the counter as he is instructed what he should do with them.

“Take them an hour before sleep,” the old woman who hands him the bottle says, the dull thud of pills against plastic, the weight of it shifting in his palm. “And only take a maximum of two per night. Remember not to operate machinery or vehicles after consumption.”

Shizuo mutters a formal thank you and leaves, shoving the bottle in his pant pocket.

“Pills? Don’t tell me all that superhuman strength was just a bunch of steroids from the start, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo visibly tenses at the sound of that voice, grating against his nerves like raw steel. His arms move back faster than his mind can follow, throwing a punch that hits nothing but the whitewash and plaster off the wall behind him in the visible shape of his fist.

“Isn’t there a more peaceful way of greeting me?” Izaya asks, tone light and just a few inches away from him that he knows the other had skittered away from his attack effortlessly.

“I’m not in the mood for you today so just get lost or go die somewhere,” Shizuo says.

The wide grin on Izaya’s face is visible, mocking in every way possible. “That really hurts, Shizuo-chan. What if something really did happen to me?”

Shizuo scoffs. “You make it sound like I care, you irritating flea.”

Shizuo sees the faint outline of the other’s blade underneath his sleeve and Izaya chuckles as he watches where his eyes wander to.

“They say a lack of blood can cause fatigue. Would you like to try it out, Shizu-chan? It might even help with your self-control problems.”

The blade sings just a few centimetres away from his ear, a silent whistle and Shizuo retaliates by deftly throwing a conveniently placed mailbox right back at Izaya with said person promptly running away.

What he hadn’t noticed was when Izaya had slipped a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled address into his pocket when he stuffs a hand inside, bottle gone.

He isn’t surprised when he sees Izaya just sitting there, waiting for him. It’s irritating that Izaya thinks that he knows him when it is anything but. There’s nothing about him that Izaya really knows about Shizuo despite the obvious.

“What’s this suppose to be?” Shizuo asks, looking distastefully at the room.

“My office, Shizu-chan. Does it suit your taste?”

Shizuo scoffs. “Like I’ll like anything that’s yours. Give me back the meds.”

“I didn’t know that you had sleeping problems. You could have came here sooner if you really needed help in not waking up. I would have guaranteed you would be asleep in no time.”

“Stop fucking with me,” Shizuo growls out and instinctively throws the nearest object beside him, the sound of metal crunching as the filing cabinet made impact with the floor halfway across the room, Izaya skittering away from the wreckage with no care in the world. “I’m not in the mood for your games!”

“Then let’s get on to the real stuff, shall we?” And Shizuo barely realises when Izaya pulls down the zipper of his pants and has a hand in his boxers, flaccid in the other’s palm. “As much as you feel good inside me, it was really fun fucking you the last time too. I think your look of submission and humiliation makes this whole act better.”

Shizuo roughly pushes Izaya away, blood vessel nearly about to pop. It isn’t his fault when he punches air trying to get Izaya’s face. The sense of vertigo that hits him however, kills his balance and he finds himself landing face first onto the wooden floorboards, cold against his cheek.

“As much as I revel in that fall, it isn’t fun to kill you when you’re half dead. I’d like you fighting as hard as you can instead of being just a pliable corpse when I finally manage to kill you,” Izaya sort of sing-song says, Shizuo’s mind blurring enough that he can’t really tell and his vision washes away with black.

The next time he opens his eyes, he shifts from the uncomfortable position he’s in, the leather on his cheek sticking to his skin. Shizuo looks around to see the clock in the corner and Izaya sitting on the other side, book in his hand as he skims through the pages.

It’s 8.34pm. Almost 4 hours.

“You snore, Shizu-chan. It isn’t very appealing of you. I was almost tempted to stuff a sock in your mouth or something to stop the noise from coming out,” Izaya says, not looking up.

“Whatever. I need a smoke then I’m heading out. I won’t punch you on the way out in exchange for letting me sleep at your place and leaving me alive. Consider that me paying back for your services because it makes me sick to the bone to think of owning you a favour,” Shizuo mutters, fingers rough as he puts the cigarette between his teeth and lights it, drags in deep before he exhales.

Izaya stares at the cloud of smoke that emerges from Shizuo’s lungs. “I wonder if the cancer is starting to settle in those bruised up breathing boxes of yours.” Shizuo ignores him in favour of another deep inhale, eyes hidden behind tinted glasses that Izaya had forgotten to remove when the other was unconscious.

It’s a few minutes of silence, just the noise of traffic and the rush of air out of his airways. It isn’t soon before the bright red ring glows close to his fingertips and Shizuo stubs out the cancer stick into the little brown envelope in his pocket that he always keeps handy for moments like these.

There is no goodbye when Shizuo stands up but then Izaya does too and he’s too far into his personal space before Izaya’s tongue is in his own mouth, gliding against the inside of his cheeks his own tongue.

“Cancer tastes terrible. I don’t know how you can stand it,” Izaya says as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth in a show of distaste. “I suppose now would be a good time for that blowjob that was about to happen seeing as you’re more awake and “owe” me.”

 _Owe me._ Shizuo feels his jaw clench as Izaya unzips his pants and pulls it and his boxers down. It feels unusual not to protest or try to bash the other’s head into the nearest solid surface but the words ring against his skull and fuck, he had a sense of right and wrong when he needed to (even when the situation they were in was questionable at most).

It’s a basic urge when he grows hard in Izaya’s mouth, that wet muscle pressing in all the right places. Izaya looks smug even when he isn’t on the receiving end and Shizuo justs wants the whole thing over with so he can wrangle the flea’s neck the next time they meet without hesitation.

Izaya suddenly pulls away, tongue swiping against his lips. “I changed my mind. I really think I just want you to blow me off instead.”

“Fucking bastard,” Shizuo growls as he roughly unbuckles the other’s belt and finds Izaya already half-hard. He’s never really given head before, his only few partners being of the female gender just before Izaya had came into the equation.

Getting on his knees feels like one of the hardest things to do and he tries to hold his gag reflex as he goes down on Izaya’s cock, lips spreading wide at the girth. His mouth feels so full and instinctively, he swallows his own saliva, making Izaya shudder slightly in the process.

Shizuo isn’t sure of what to do but it seems Izaya’s already thought of it that far when he digs fingers into Shizuo’s hair and begins to fuck his throat raw, making him gag in the process. It doesn’t take long for him to come down the back of the other’s throat and Shizuo tries to swallow as much as he can, failing when some drips out from the side of his mouth. It makes him vaguely think of how he’s staining the clothes his brother had given him with Izaya’s own taint.

They fuck a few times, raw and needy, both aching for release with no care for the other. Izaya fucks him, he fucks Izaya and the circle goes round. At the end of it all, with the sheets sticking to his back and his wrists aching, Shizuo can still feel the raw ache inside of him as he changes back to head off to his own apartment, Izaya almost snickering at his appearance, at the marks and caked up blood on both their skin that tints the air stronger than the smell of sex.

The walls close in on him and he can’t stay any longer, remembering the hospital walls and smell. Shizuo knows he still has enough attentiveness in him to lay a number on Izaya if he tries force another knife beneath the surface of his skin but Izaya doesn’t, laying around like a lazy cat and Shizuo barely has his vest buttoned before he’s out of the door and on the streets to catch the last train home.

As he slips into bed, barely able to unlace his shoes, his mind drifts into slumber, pitch black and dreamless that envelops him in warmth.

It’s three in the afternoon when he wakes up and realises he had forgotten to take back the white bottle that was still sitting on Izaya’s desk.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

There was a time when he had thought Izaya had finally killed himself in a ditch somewhere when everything becomes silent, almost eerie after the years of being at each other’s throats.

It’s almost a whole year before Shizuo sees Izaya in Ikkebukuro again, talking to a bunch of highschool kids from their old school, as he can recognise from their uniforms.

In the span of 5 seconds and a flying trashcan, Shizuo finds out that the violence never really disappears no matter how much you try.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Shizuo’s first visit to Izaya’s office in Shinjuku had been months before the Saika incident had happened, not that Shizuo or Izaya would have admitted it to anyone. After Erika’s little comment, it had made him more riled up to show to the world that there was no such thing like “love” between them, even the one both her and Walker would always read in their manga. It wasn’t something as simple as love and it would never be that way, not when the emotion wasn’t even present.

It was, however, the only time neither of them had gotten bruises and cuts from the other due to Celty’s unpredicted arrival, a long chain of red messages filled with Shizuo’s name and an intent to overrun a society. There were, unfortunately, more pressing matters at hand.

As Izaya watches them go, he sighs. “How does an idiot like him see so much? This is why I hate him.”

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

After the fifth time, Shizuo stops bothering to count anymore, despite the threats and the blood that seeped in the spaces between his fingers. He doesn’t know if he can’t or he won’t, the lines blurred and Izaya knowing just as much.

Even when they fuck, he never truly loses that expression of being the ultimate winner, the one with the perfect composure and Shizuo the one who’s slipping through the cracks.

“You hate it and yet, you come back every time. I wonder what would happen if everyone knew, hmm? Maybe your little brother,” Izaya says tauntingly, tongue tracing against Shizuo’s earlobe like the tip of a blade.

Shizuo tenses, fingers tightening around the slender neck and Izaya only grins harder. “Don’t you dare.”

“You’re so cute, Shizu-chan.”

It’s their first time in an actual bedroom, moonlight streaming through the curtains. Izaya’s office is smaller than Shizuo had expected when he had first visited, less grand than the pictures the flea next to him had always painted about his lifestyle.

“Why do I come back?” Shizuo asks, a hand against Izaya’s throat and a cigarette in the other. It makes his head hurt, question unanswered in the darkness, both denial and acceptance all wrapped up in one question.

“Because,” Izaya says. “Simply because.”

“Fuck you, what kind of answer is that?” The pressure in Shizuo’s fingers increase.

Izaya smiles, teeth showing, monster’s teeth that are cold and cruel and him. “Not everything is ever simple enough to explain, Shizu-chan.” And Shizuo can feel the blade that runs down the curve of his jaw, clenching his teeth. “Unless, you’d believe me if I said I love you?”

“No one loves me, because they’re afraid of me. But I’d rather die than be loved by a flea like you.”

Izaya hums, a simple tune from childhood memory. “That could be arranged. I’ll give you the worst kind of death possible, Shizu-chan. But don’t worry, I bet Shinra, Celty and maybe your idol brother might attend your funeral shedding tears at the loss of your life.”

“One day, I’ll finally kill you and dig your own grave myself,” Shizuo says as he feels the chill of metal follow down his arm to the bumps of his knuckles.

Izaya laughs, slightly strained from the pressure on his throat and too casual at the same time, like sounds of Death. “That’s if I don’t finish you off first.”

Somewhere in a corner, knights, kings and other various chess, othello and shogi pieces are scattered on the floor, rough handling when Shizuo had pushed Izaya against the wall earlier, rough and warm, the Go board empty and bare.

Empty and bare and filled with the prospect of endless possibilities.


End file.
